Stupid Sexy Cryptids [152-155]

152: The Song of Wormwood

Another stray. He just has to collect them all!

Shady rubbed her aching temples with a dark, furred hand, closing her eyes.

Deep, unnerving pain radiated from the base of her antlers down to the marrow of her bones. It felt as though someone had taken a sledgehammer to her soul and then tried to glue the pieces back together with cheap duct tape. 

Multiple-soul-shard-resurrection and Astral Fountain sickness was a misery she would not wish on her worst enemy… Well, maybe she’d wish it on her Aunt. Evely deserved everything terrible that was coming to her now that her hoard was obliterated.

When Shady opened her eyes, the Soviet 1950’s cafe looked monochromatic, slightly blurred at the edges as if viewed through deep water. The tables were gray. The food on the plates looked like piles of dust. Ash and the dog prad were also gray and blurry, the voices of their conversation muted.

“Eh?” She voiced. 

“I pulled us a bit deeper in the Astral, three quarters out of Laika’s dream,” Sage explained. “Because someone can’t play nice. Feel free to shout at each other and demand answers, such won’t interrupt the doggo seduction now.”

Seduction?!

Shady felt her innards wobble and churn with the breath of the Entropic abyss, like waves of all-swallowing, boiling, yet ice-cold ocean striking her being again and again, demanding her to devour everyone here, to break their necks, to claw off their smug faces… starting with the annoying, far too happy fox.

Ash was hers! HERS! Who was this Skinwalker to boss her around? Things were so nice just a few days ago when she had her best friend all to herself… when they were watching scary movies together, cracking jokes, cuddling… sharing snacks.

She blinked sparks of tears from her eyes, struggling to focus on the present, fighting against the pull of the abyssal void tearing at her insides from every direction. 

FOCUS, Slayer-damn it. Focus!!!

Why is everyone fucking with me today? What’s Nexxali even up to that spooked Galateya? 

Shady tired to read the Serval’s mind but her hooks wobbled and flailed randomly, failing to hold onto anything coherent, only catching general feline confidence and smugness. The Serval prad must have felt her suffering because slid closer to Shady and started massaging the Wendigo’s shoulders. This relaxed her ever so slightly, stopping Shady from lunging at the Skinwalker’s throat.

"We are keeping this… mutt then," Shady stated.

“Liberating and claimin’,” Sage affirmed. “Thieving her from Saint Nikky.”

“And Saint Nikky is who?” 

“Saint Nikky is free range agent Ex-Admiral Evely hired to kill us all,” Nexxali explained. “A Krampus Omnid.”

“Nikky intends to seed this lovely Earth with a dungeon bloom,” Sage clarified. “She calls it the Coniferous Conversion. Her warship is a mobile dungeon with Seeds and nine Sentinels capable of turning all organic matter into festive decorations and sucking the souls of the dead up into itself like a bigly vacuum. It’s like Lady Liberty vacuum from Spaceballs, but worse. Laika is Saint Nikky’s navigator, a blood-pact bound prad.”

“Abyss,” Shady groaned. She expected some sort of retaliation from her aunt but summoning a fucking mobile dungeon? 

Was Aunt Evely completely insane?

“Not insane,” Nexxali said, catching Shady’s thoughts rushing through her. “Desperate. Evely simply hired a professional hunter-executioner to solve the problem of her fall from grace. The dungeon-ship vacuum is news to me.”

Shady grunted.

Why was her family full of warmongering idiots?

Then she noted that Galateya was still staring at Nexxali with a bothered expression.

"Spill it, cat," Shady grunted at her feline Knight after a moment of irate contemplation. "What’d you do that’s bugging the dragon?”

“You know what I did, no?” Nexxali asked. “We’ve been sharing our minds for a while now.”

“My hooks are wobbly as fuck and I have a migraine the size of Jupiter, so I’d prefer it if you didn’t flap around,” Shady ground out. “Be clear and concise.”

“Aight.” Nexxali nodded and resumed kneading the Wendigo. "Twenty years ago, on Desolada, my grandmother sat me down on her lap. She was old and only somewhat sane. She had the Future-Sight, the kind that drives you mad if you don't sing it out. She told me I was the Song of the Wormwood Star."

“Uh-huh, and?” Shady stated.

"She said I carried the tune of the End Times in my soul, that I was cursed with Everything, that the more I would sing, the more reality would decay around me because absolute, pure entropy lived in the shadows I cast. At first, it scared the shit out of me, but then… I got curious."

“Curiosity killed the kitten,” Sage commented, making Nexxali’s smirk widen.

"When the Frontenachii came, I joined them, departing from my doomed world, hoping to slow its decay if I was gone. Eventually, as I moved up the ranks, I got access to all of the secret archives. I wanted to know what in the Abyss the Wormwood Star actually was, beyond the Desolada Song-Lore. I monitored the corpse worlds we visited, chatted with the Archmages and Lords our Fleet dominated. I gradually pried information out of the Legates. I talked at length with Ixthia, Keeper Morrigan and Admiral Evelithria. I asked anyone of wisdom, Astral sight and power about the Slayer and the Leviathan."

Galateya crossed her arms, staring at Sage with a judging expression.

"They all believed the same thing," Nexxali resumed. "Different flavors, same dish. They believed the Slayer and the Leviathan are a cycle. A predetermined loop of Systemfall. Magic blooming from magic, the rules gradually decaying from too many spells being fired in one place. A system reset button for dying dimensions. The Leviathan eats the rot of a world that’s reached its magical threshold of entropy. The Slayer kills the Leviathan. Life blooms from the blood. Round and round it goes."

“‘Das the general Omnid lore, ya.” Sage nodded.

“Through the years of Lore-digging, I realized something. If I was the Song... then I also could be the conductor. I didn't have to just sing of doom. I could compose the melody, wield entropy like a blade, slice away undesirable futures."

“I slice away undesirable futures by making good choices daily like drinking fresh milk,” Sage commented. 

"I used my Riffweld," Nexxali said. "I sang to myself. For years. I bent my own path. I set myself on a trajectory to become… the Leviathan."

“You what?” Shady asked, opening one eye to stare at her feline Knight. “The fuck?”

“Bigly plans,” Sage commented.

“That's… what I thought I felt.” Galateya stated. "Now, why in the Abyss would you want to be the world-eating dragon with infinite eyes and arms?"

“The Leviathan can only exist at the end of everything in a, urhm, liminal space between the beginning and the end of reality,” Nexxali clarified. “I wanted to be… More like… the Leviathan's Avatar in a linear body.”

“Sounds like a self fulfilling prophecy,” Galateya said. “You started with Riffweld aligned with Entropy and you, what, aligned your soul with greater Astral decay, dug a hole in yourself?”

"Noppers. Aligning myself with entropy would indeed decay my soul too much,” Nexxali grinned. “Instead, I dug in the other direction. I hunted, created the… Slayer, dug a probability hole towards him.”

“You fucking what?” Shady repeated as Galateya simply stared.

“To be the Leviathan, I needed a Slayer. But I didn't want an armed Slayer. Armed Slayers are dangerous, can cut through anything in their way, I heard. I wanted a Slayer I could work with. A swordless, extra-linear Slayer… in my paws."

She pointed a claw at the blurry, gray Ash chatting with the dog.

“No, come on,” Galateya let out. “Ash can’t be THE Slayer. That’s… blasphemy of the highest order!”

“I’m an atheist,” Nexxali shrugged. “I’ve met far too many self-declared gods and slain them with the Third Fleet’s warships and Seekers. Manufacturing the Slayer is possible with the right approach.”

“But…” Galateya let out, visibly bothered by the feline’s revelations. “Ash is… just a human with no powers.”

“Correct,” Nexxali said. “Just as I intended. You think that I’d want to deal with a Slayer with powers? No way. I wanted my Slayer to be… manageable, cute… human, a magical null.”

“You cannot just... manufacture a cosmic entity,” Galateya protested. “The Slayer is chosen by the System! By the Abyss! He arises when everything, everyone dies.”

"The Abyss is ineffective and cold," Nexxali shot back. “I cleared the path. I brought the Third Fleet here, nudged Evely to take this job instead of the Second Fleet. I removed the obstacles. I made sure Ash met the right people. I made sure he got the sword."

"Sounds like you manipulated him," Galateya accused. "And… us."

"Nu-huh. I ensured our survival," Nexxali said. "If Ash becomes the Slayer, he won't slay me. He will break the cycle. He will find a third option. He already broke the Slayer's Sword. He is doing exactly what I want him to do."

Sage hummed, tapping her chin. "So... you are manifesting, what, a custom apocalypse? Systemfall, where we win?”

"No apocalypses,” Nexxali wagged her finger. “No Systemfalls. The Slayer arises when entropy reaches its peak. This extra-linear dimension decays blood contracts, makes magic difficult. Nothing is going to arise here. There will be no Leviathan to slay.”

Shady let out a bark of laughter. "That is it? That’s the bigly reveal?"

Nexxali blinked. "...Yes?”

"I thought you were going to tell us that you sold us out to the Stabalists or some other party," Shady scoffed. She rubbed her eyes and yawned wide. "You wanted to be the big bad dragon because you’re a cute, lil’ kitty. You wanted Ash to be the hero. You used your voice to stack the deck. So what?"

"So what?" Galateya gaped at the Wendigo. "She is tampering with fundamental forces of existence! She is risking—"

"She is playing the game," Shady cut the feisty dragon off. "My family does it all the time. We hoard artifacts to bend reality. Nexxali used Entropic Riffweld instead of a big pile of magic junk. It is clever. Funny even...”

"Why, thank you, Princess.” The Serval made a small bow.

“Ashy is the person that's least likely to become the Slayer,” Shady added, “That much is true. I had to defend him from a spider once.”

Nexxali giggled.

"Do not get too comfortable, kitty," Shady warned. "If your plan gets Ash hurt... I will eat you. Slowly. This whole ‘Emperor of Earth’ business keeps putting him in danger, in a position of great power which actually might turn him into the Slayer. I ran away to this planet to get away from my family, to have a chill life. I’m having the opposite of a chill life right now. This isn’t the slice of life adventure I wanted.”

Galateya pursed her lips.

“He broke the sword tho’,” Nexxali pointed out.

“He broke a starship,” Shady said. “That's not exactly the same thing.”

“And?” Nexxali challenged. “This Earth is extra-Linear. This is the least likely place where I could melt into the Leviathan. Is my home now, my safety net.”

“It won’t be very linear if we the Greens infest it with Dryads,” Galateya pointed out.

“All the more reason to stop the Sixth Fleet,” Sage commented. 

“We just learned that there’s a fucking dungeon hovering over the planet. What if he goes into that Sleigh dungeon and finds a two dimensional sword? The more we do, the worse the situation seems to escalate,” Shady groaned. “I don’t like how quickly things are blooming into a shitstorm. I don’t like how many thirsty women are orbiting around my Ashy. I’m in a fuckton of pain and the entropy-infected parts of my soul are screaming for your blood.”

“No bite the fox please,” Sage stated.

“I’m trying not to,” Shady growled, her entire body undulating, stretching, blossoming with black feathers, fingers elongated blade-like claws. “You’re NOT making it easier!”

Shady dug her claws into the gray table until the wood splintered under her grip. The urge to lunge forward and sink her teeth into Sage’s throat pulsed in her veins like a second, darker heartbeat. 

Was she truly that jealous of the fox? No… It was a biological imperative driven by the holes in her soul where the entropy took hold. The fox smelled like life and warmth. She smelled like an ocean of magic. 

She smelled like a tasty snack that could patch the numerous cracks in Shady’s shattered psyche. 

"Control yourself, Princess," Galateya commanded.

The dragon girl placed a hand on Shady’s trembling forearm.

A shock of cold clarity rushed through Shady. It felt like plunging into a still, glacier-fed lake. The frost spread from Galateya’s touch, freezing the boiling black mud of Shady’s agitation. The feathers receding into her skin felt like needles withdrawing.

"I am controlling myself," Shady hissed. "I am sitting here as calmly as I can. I am not eating the fox. That is the definition of control."

"You are leaking," Sage observed, fox eyes flickering all around her in concentric rings spreading into endless wings. "Your aura looks like a cracked oil pan. You are dripping void-stuff all over the Astral."

Shady glared at the Skinwalker. "Maybe if you stopped being so appetizingly annoying, I would leak less!"

"I cannot help it." Sage shrugged. "I am naturally yummy and full of souls. You’re leaking because you’re hurt. This has nothing to do with me and everything to do with the fact that you’re starving for energy to repair those cracks.”

“Yes,” Shady ground out. “I need to… scare Ashy. Come on… Let me… frighten him just a little… It’ll make me less snappy.”

Nexxali sighed, intensifying her kneading and purring.

“No,” Galateya said. “It won’t. You’re hurt too much.”

“Ugh,” Shady crossed her arms. “I hate all of you.”

“What if I could offer you a feast?” Sage asked.

“What feast?” Shady’s skull-face snapped to the fox, white teeth clacking.

“This feast,” Sage pointed a colorful claw at the dog chatting with Ash. “Her. Laika.”

153: Soul Hunger

“Leviathan’s tits, Sage!” Galateya snarled, her human figure elongating and getting covered in black and red scales. “You want to feed Laika’s soul to Shady while she’s distracted with being offered hope of having a home?! That’s your solution to stopping the Sleigh?! Really?!”

“No. Relax, T-buns.” The fox shook her red mane. “I’ve been examining this whole dream loop in greater detail. There’s a reason why Laika’s psyche is trapped in it, why her soul keeps dreaming of this moment when I push her into the moon-hole.”

“Why?” Galateya asked.

“Laika’s death was a sacrifice, it opened the door to the abyss,” Sage explained. “Let entropy in. It made it easier for Saint Nikky or the Sleigh to set this up.”

“Set what up?” Nexxali asked.

“This,” Sage waved her hands at the black and white Soviet cafe. “This isn’t ordinary near-death-PTSD, no mere soul damage as I originally thought. I believe I understand the nature of blood pacts now that I dove into a really potent one. A blood pact is essentially a potent memetic infection, a living chain, a loop that’s constantly strangling and chewing its host. A Vow… a one sided obedience-aligned Blood Pact… is an Astral mushroom covered in parasites.”

“A mushroom covered in parasites?” Shady squinted at the fox. “That… doesn’t sound very tasty.”

“Astral parasites have souls too, bruh,” Sage snapped her fox-chompers back at Shady. “Yummy, yummy souls you could terrorise, crunch on. Don’t hate on a meal till you try it. You Frontenachii are feeding on the wrong things. The Astral is full of monsters that actually need to be tormented and devoured.”

“Fine.” Shady said. 

. . .

-=[Ashcroft Clifford]=-

Laika wet, dark nose twitched, drawing in a long breath.

"You smell… honest," she admitted, relaxing further. "Unexpected. I’d expect a foreign spy to smell like cheap cologne and fancy hotels. You smell… like pine trees and foxes… and the ocean. Strange."

"I currently live with a fox close to a forest," I said. "The scent rubs off."

"You have a very strange pack… a strong one unless my nose betrays me," she murmured after a minute of meat pie chewing and sipping tea. 

“That I do,” I agreed. “And they could be your pack too.”

“My… pack,” she repeated with a look of half-suppressed longing. “That does sound nice. Too nice, in fact. The problem is… How can I trust you or your pack? I feel like I’ve been made offers before… although I cannot remember what they were… or maybe what they will be.” 

I wasn’t sure what to say to that, falling silent.

“I don’t even know your real name, Mr. Bond,” She sighed. “How do I know that you won’t use me for some vile Yankee plot?”

“I don’t have vile plots,” I said. “I only have… nice plans. Plans to protect my pack, my home and my friends. Plans to help as many people as possible with a title I made up for myself.”

“What sort of a title?” She wondered.

“I declared myself as everyone’s… leader,” I sighed. “When in truth I wasn’t any sort of such. Now everyone does think that I’m their leader and they expect great things from me. It’s kind of annoying really. Far too much responsibility for my liking.” I offered her a soft smile. 

“Uh-huh, so you lied about being someone important and chained yourself with noble titles?”

“More or less,” I shrugged. “And I just keep piling titles on myself. I can’t help it.”

She snorted, then hid her smile behind a colorful teacup.

“From what I understand, Laika… You sense what’s coming because were… offered a magical pact, a leash that keeps pulling you into this sad moment,” I finally arrived at the right words. “I won’t be offering you any pacts at all. I don’t have binding magic or any magic at all really. I’m not Mephistopheles that’s planning to buy your soul with a handshake. I’m simply offering you my friendship.”

“Why?”

“Because I can see how cold, lonely and miserable you are,” I said. 

“There are plenty of other mutts out there on the streets being miserable,” she rebutted. “Are you going to offer them your ‘friendship’ too?”

This was just a dream, the people in the cafe around us weren’t real, weren’t alive… Sadly, I couldn’t tell Laika any of that without the potential threat of waking her up.

“If… They’re someone whom I can help, yes,” I answered. “I would absolutely help them, offer them my friendship too.”

Laika returned to her meal. Both of us sipped our tea in somewhat awkward silence as I waited for her to reach a decision. Occasionally she seemed to sniff at the empty chairs next to us with suspicious glances.

“Could I… meet them too?” She asked finally, setting down her teacup. “You’re offering me a… family, not just yourself, right? They smell like they’re close by… maybe one dimensional layer below us?”

“Sage?” I thought. “Is it safe for her to talk to all of you?”

“The safest,” the fox replied in my head. “I’ve figured her out. Bringing us back up.”

“Guys?” I spoke into the air, mostly for Laika’s benefit. “Dive out. Also, Shades, no terrorising my new dog friend please.”

The air around the empty chairs shimmered like heat rising from summer pavement. 

Sage faded back into view first, then Galateya. Nexxali materialized next, the red star on her commissar cap glittering bright red. The human-Wendigo manifested last, looking very annoyed, silver eyes boring into the prad mutt.

“Hiiiiiii,” Sage grinned.

"I make no promises regarding my appetite," Shady stated. She picked up my fork and skewered a few pierogi. "However, I suppose I can refrain from biting… someone for a bit." She gave me a poignant look implying that I deserved many bites for my female collection misdeeds as she swallowed the dream-meat.

Laika recoiled slightly against the chair, eyes darting between the four imposing women.

“I was wrong. You don't smell local at all. You are… Outsiders,” she whispered. “High level ones.”

"This is my pack," I told Laika. "Fox, Dragon, Cat. And… Shadow, as you’ve so eloquently judged."

“I am… Laika,” the prad dog said.

“Charming,” Shady commented.

Laika looked at Shady with concern. "You smell like… the worst kind of nightmare."

"And you smell like miserable despair and tasty fear,” Shady drawled. “We all have our perfumes."

"Be nice, Shades," I warned. “This is important.”

"I am being nice," Shady countered. "I haven't thrown her through the window yet."

Laika looked at me. "How do you even control them if you are a null, powerless human? These… monsters?"

"Nobody controls us," Nexxali corrected. She leaned forward on her elbows. "We work together. Such is the point of a pack, doggo. Mutual survival. Mutual benefit. Mutual love and warmth.”

The young prad looked down at her tea with a despondent look.

"Love," she muttered. "There is no genuine love here. Not in Moscow ruled by the Ministry of Magic. The System Wizard promises us a golden age. She says that her Archmages will bring magic to the masses. Autogenesis. Infinite housing, infinite food, free wishes for everyone forever. Safety and shelter for all, so that even if we are targeted by Yankee mag-nukes… we will survive."

"You do not believe her?" Galateya asked.

"Wizard Revolution is a liar," Laika spat the words with dark venom. "Khrushchev stands on the podium and waves his hands. He speaks of corn that grows in winter and apartments that build themselves. Yet I still sleep by the vent. The winters get colder. The bread lines get longer. They say that the wild places are already contaminated, filled with hungry monsters pouring through the shears in reality. They say that Australia vanished off the map, was devoured by a Leviathan-beast from the abyss."

"Utopias are often expensive," Sage noted. "Usually the cost is hidden in the fine print."

"The cost is us," Laika said. "The strays. The unwanted. They round us up. They say the relocation leads to the new magical districts. Nobody ever comes back from the GIGA-KRUSH elevators though. Whatever Dr. Kerenski’s Autogenesis is… nobody returns from it to tell the tale. The stars above the Kremlin burn ever brighter with each day too. Everyone who looks at them can’t stop smiling…"

I felt an icy chill crawling up my mine.

"Why?" I asked.

"Forced narrative," Laika whispered. "Charmchain-bound, false joy. The System Wizard writes a story. A grand epic of Soviet supremacy. And all good stories need conflict in their heart. They need sacrifice. I feel it in my bones. We are just ink on her page. And she particularly enjoys red ink."

"Predestination," Galateya murmured. "You feel trapped in a script?"

"It is not a feeling," Laika insisted. "It is a sound. A ticking clock. A countdown. I hear it when I try to sleep. It tells me that my time is short. That I have a terrible role to play… "

She rubbed her arms and shivered ever so slightly.

"The ending is already written," she continued. She stared into her tea cup. "Fire. Darkness. Pain. Betrayal. I cannot change it. I am just a stray dog, one who can’t get away from the future, no matter what I do. I feel like I keep waking up on the street day after day, stuck on a track without an end."

"Scripts can be rewritten," I said. "You do not have to play the part assigned to you."

"Easy for you to say, American," Laika huffed. "You have power. You have a pack of high level monsters at your side. I have nothing."

"You have a choice," I said. "Right now. You can finish your tea, walk out that door, and wait for the men with the nets to find you. Or you can trust me. Trust us, join our pack. We can take you somewhere the script cannot reach."

"Where?" she asked.

"Away from sacrifices," I promised.

“To a forest of pines,” Sage added. “By the Atlantic Ocean. Where the wild foxes play.”

“To a nice campfire with a guitar under the stars,” Nexxali smiled, humming a catchy melody under her breath.

“To a linear world,” Galateya added. “Where there are no monsters, no Soviet Ministry of Magic, no Charmchain hexagrams looming over cities.”

Laika looked at the door. Then at the dark window. Then at me. Hope fought with fatalism in her expression.

"I..." she started.

The brass bell above the door chimed.

A gust of icy wind blew in.

Laika froze. Her ears swiveled toward the entrance. Her pupils dilated until her eyes looked entirely black.

"No," she whimpered. "Not now. He is not supposed to find me here. Not inside the cafe!”

I turned in my chair.

A man stood in the doorway. He wore a heavy gray coat with a fur collar and a thick ushanka hat. He stamped the snow from his boots and pulled his hat off revealing dark hair in the process of balding. I recognized him from Laika's dream.

"There you are, little one," Vladimir Yazdovsky said softly. "I have been looking everywhere for you."

154: Yesterweave

“No, no, no,” Laika moaned, drawing in on herself, clawing at her furry snout. “This isn’t right. This wasn’t supposed to happen. I stepped off the path. How did he find me?”

“Shady?” I asked. “Mind dealing with that bothersome man?”

“With pleasure,” the human-shaped Wendigo stood up. Her blonde hair undulated for a second with dark feathers. She flashed from where she stood. With a male yelp, both of them were gone, the door swinging open. 

A splash of red painted the snow in the distant gloom. An echo of a gurgling final scream reached us. A dark figure stretched upwards, feather-tipped tail swaying, blade-like claws tearing at flesh. Shady was devouring the man whole, moving like a living blender. I shuddered.

She probably could have taken Vladimir apart behind the building, but she clearly couldn't resist giving me a gut-churning terror-show to feed on my fear.

Laika didn’t pay attention to Shady. She was curled in on herself, trembling, looking very small and young again.

“Shhh, it's okay, cutie,” Sage slid over to the trembling prad dog. “The bad doctor is gone. He can’t hurt you anymore, can't take you away.”

Laika looked at the fox with eyes filled with tears. “I can’t get away from this nightmare of a life. He’ll be back. He always finds me… and somehow I always accept his promises as the truth and then… then I…” She broke down into sobs.

Sage hugged her. “It’ll be fine. We will give you a home. Right, Alpha?”

“Yes,” I said. 

“I… I don’t believe you,” Laika bawled. “They… he… He tricked me, betrayed me, promised me a home. You’re the same… you want something from me… are offering me a family. A sacrifice… That’s all I am… That’s all I’m worth to this blasted doomed Earth!”

"Look at me, Laika," I said.

I reached across the table. My hand covered her trembling, cold paw. She flinched, muscles bunching under the oversized jacket as if expecting a strike. I did not pull away. I kept my hand there, a solid weight that was hopefully grounding her.

"You are not a sacrifice," I stated firmly. "You are a person. And you don't have to be alone anymore."

"I am... kindling," she whispered, tears dripping from her muzzle onto the tablecloth. "And kindling exists to burn. It is the law of this place. And after they burn me I'll be less than nothing, a void… empty despair.” 

"We can fill the empty with something else," Sage murmured, petting Laika gently. "With warm soup. With bad jokes. With foxes and hugs. Promise on all of my souls.”

Laika looked at the fox, then back at me. 

The pain in her eyes was heavy and suffocating, physically radiating suffering of being stuck in an unending, looping nightmare. It felt like standing at the bottom of a deep well, looking up at a circle of light that was slowly being covered by a stone lid.

"Why do you care?" she croaked. "I am dirty. I have fleas. I bark at cars and squirrel prads like an idiot."

"I like dogs," I said. "And I don't like people who want to use others as fuel for their ambitions."

Galateya leaned closer, looking like a concerned, older sister.

"I was locked away too," Galateya said quietly. "Raised in a bubble of five rooms without the sky… with prad wolves who hated and hit me, imprisoned for twenty years. I get you, Laika… I understand the feeling of being trapped in a script someone else wrote."

Laika sniffled, wiping her nose with her sleeve. "How did you... escape?"

"I was… recently let out and was given a mission, a narrative to follow by my great-grandmother… Quests to complete,” Galateya pointed at me and Sage. “Then I met… this boy and this fox. They offered me a new path forward, helped me find my courage, my power, my inner strength. I froze my overseer. I can… maybe… try to freeze whatever is binding you.” She offered shyly.

“Really?” Laika asked, blinking at Teya with wet eyes.

“Really,” Teya said. 

“And I can wobble your bonds with a hearty song,” Nexxali grinned.

“And I can take you away from here,” Sage added. “To another place and time…”

“Another time?” Laika blinked. “That's not possible. Time travel has been declared suicidal by the Ministry of Magic.”

“Not time travel.” Sage shook her red mane. “A step sideways to a shared… dream. Think of it as a demonstration, a preview of what it would be like to be in our family.”

The door swung open. A gust of wind swirled into the room, carrying large snowflakes.

Shady stepped back inside.

She looked pristine, blonde hair still nicely coiffed. Her white winter coat was spotless. Only a single, small smear of crimson stained the corner of her mouth, which she wiped away with a thumb.

Shady gracefully walked to the table. She pulled out her chair and sat down, crossing her legs. She looked at Laika.

“D-did you… hurt him?” Laika asked nervously. 

"I ate him whole. He was crunchy," Shady remarked casually. "And full of gristle. Many deadlines to meet.”

“Told you you would enjoy eating memetics,” Sage grinned.

Shady rolled her eyes at the cheeky fox.

Laika stared at the Wendigo. Her jaw went slack. "You... you really..."

"Really. He is gone," Shady said. 

“Nommed,” Sage added. “He won't be looking for you ever again.”

"But... he is…" Laika uttered, struggling to fully recall who exactly Vladimir was and why he was haunting her dreams.

“Without him, you have time," Sage added.

"Time," Laika repeated, looking at me. “I have… time?”

"Time to have fun," Sage added with a vulpine smile. "Time to decide what you want to do with your life without being pushed into a diresome direction."

Laika looked down at her hands. The claws were chipped and dirty.

"I want..." she started, her voice barely audible. "I want to go somewhere else… somewhere different… I want to sleep in a bed. With a pillow. And a blanket that doesn't smell like oil."

"My house has many beds,” I said. 

“P-promise?” She sniffed.

“Promise,” I said, squeezing her hand.

“We are here for you,” Safe agreed. “You won't have to suffer alone anymore. Our nippy, personal Nightmare will chew on anyone planning to hurt you.” The fox winked at Shady who tisked back, showing canines that were far too big for a human.

Laika smiled, tail wagging. “So… how do I… get to the… demonstration?”

"I’ll pull us into my Yesterweave hex,” Sage affixed a friendship bracelet over Laika’s wrist, then snapped similar bracelets over everyone’s wrists. “A... shared dreamscape I've been cultivating for ‘bout a year now. My personal happy place stitched together from warm memories and possibilities."

The mutt stared at the bracelet on her wrist.

"Don’t fret doggo,” Sage added. “S’ goinn’ to be a great bonding experience. For everyone."

"Can we get more specifics?” Shady asked.

"Nah. It’ll be a surprise. One where everyone can get to know each other better," Sage said. "Without the pressure of imminent planetary doom hanging over our heads. Consider it team building. Very important for pack cohesion! I’ll have it running at way more speed on a deeper layer of the Sea of Foxes."

Shady seemed to undulate with dark feathers for a second.

"Shades, Nexxy." Sage grinned. "You two can stay here for a bit, enjoy the all-you-can-eat parasite buffet. Once you’ve had your fill, tap the friendship bracelet and I’ll pull you in too."

“Mkay.” Shady nodded.

“Sounds good,” Nexxali agreed.

"Excellent." Sage rubbed her hands together. "Now, fair warning everyone. The landing might be a little bumpy. Actually, it's going to be very bumpy. On purpose. Mostly for our magless A-man."

"On purpose?" I raised an eyebrow.

"Yep," Sage explained. "The whole point is that you won't be expecting things. You'll have to figure stuff out as you go. Much more organic. Much more fun. Trust the process. Fox-cess."

"This sounds suspiciously like you're about to drop us into somewhere ridiculous," Galateya observed.

"Ridiculous? Moi?" Sage placed a hand over her heart in mock offense. "I would never. It's going to be wonderful. A chance to experience the past without the weight of current stresses."

Laika looked between us. "I don't understand. Where are we going?"

"Somewhere really nice," Sage assured her, "a wholesome, warm and colorful place full of wonderful things and adorkable humans. You're going to love it. I promise. Group hug!"

We gathered together in a tight cluster. 

Sage pulled us all in, flickering fox-eye-wings stretching to encompass the entire group. Laika ended up pressed against my side, looking thoroughly bewildered. Nexxali purred loudly. Galateya's colorful scales flickered beneath her human disguise. Shady looked somewhat perturbed.

Sage grinned and snapped her claws. "Hold on tight, everyone. Here. We. Go."

The world inverted. Time wobbled and compressed, my sense of self stretching and waning.

Then reality shattered in two.

Through one set of my eyes I saw Shady unfolding into a hundred nightmarish Wendigos, spreading out across the restaurant and tearing everything in her path, obliterating furniture, devouring the screaming prad waiters and blurry cafe patrons.

The other me felt like I was falling through infinity, tumbling end over end through endlessness. Fox eyes flashed all around me like falling stars, spinning and swirling in wild patterns. 

Then my mind snapped and reality folded into itself.

. . .

My feet hurt.

That was the first thing I noticed. The dull ache of standing too long on concrete crawled up through my heels and settled into my calves. I shifted my weight, trying to find a more comfortable position.

The line stretched ahead of me, snaking between chrome stanchions with retractable blue belts toward the massive glass doors of the Washington State Convention Center. 

A banner hung above the entrance: "EMERALD CITY COMIC CON 2024 - WELCOME HEROES!" with artwork of various Garvel characters in heroic and dramatic poses.

I glanced down at myself. I was wearing an Invader Xim lanyard and my basic ass Gloom Souls cosplay consisting of a shirt painted like Worship the Sun Knight. The badge at the end of the lanyard featured a castle logo, ASHCROFT CLIFFORD - GENERAL ADMISSION and a QR code. Below, smaller text read "3-DAY PASS" with the dates August 16-18, 2024. The lanyard was bright green with white text repeating "ECCC 2024" in repeating patterns.

The line shuffled forward three feet. Progress.

I fished my brick tablet out of my side bag with a yawn.

10:47 AM. Thursday, August 22nd, 2024.

I scrolled through my gram messages. 

Dax sent a few cyborg waifu pics he found and seventeen memes, each one increasingly unhinged. The latest was a deep-fried image of Shrek labeled "ME WHEN THE PIZZA ROLLS ARE DONE" that had been compressed and recompressed so many times it looked like modern art.

Below that, a text from my mom asking if I was eating enough vegetables. I hadn't responded. I probably wasn't eating enough vegetables. Convention food didn't count.

A reminder notification popped up: "Dentist appointment - Monday 2PM." I dismissed it with a grimace. Future Ash's problem.

I kept scrolling, looking for nothing in particular, when someone collided with my shoulder.

"Oh! Sorry, sorry, sorry!"

I stumbled sideways, nearly dropping my tablet. 

A girl in an elaborate costume had bumped into me while trying to navigate the crowded queue. She wore a raggedy outfit with dog ears, one ear flopping forward. Her face was painted with canine features, brown and white patches, white line a black nose tip. She had on a distressed jacket.

The whole aesthetic screamed "post-apocalyptic dog girl survivor," a rather niche costume choice. 

"No worries," I said, catching my balance. "Lines like this are basically nerd mosh pits."

She laughed nervously, looking around wildly. "I've never... there are so many people… and I have no idea where I am or why."

Her accent was Slavic. Russian, maybe? 

"First con?" I asked.

“Uhrm… I guess?” She said, not sounding too sure, the floppy dog ear bouncing. "Everything is very... big. And loud. And colorful. At least it’s warm."

"Yeah, Emerald City can be overwhelming," I agreed. "I remember my first time. I just kind of stood in the middle of the vendor hall and spun in circles for like ten minutes." I stuck out my hand. "I'm Ash, by the way."

She looked at my hand for a moment, then took it carefully. Her grip was light, hesitant. "Laika."

155: Comicon

"Cool name,” I smiled. “Like the space dog? That’s your costume, right?"

Her brown eyes widened slightly. "Uh?”

"Yeah, the first animal in orbit. Yeah, everyone knows that story. Kind of sad, honestly. She deserved better." I realized I was still holding her hand and let go quickly. "Anyway. Super cool and original costume."

"I... yes," Laika said, looking down at herself. "I’m an original… I suppose."

"Nice. Very atmospheric. Cute ears and makeup. The fluffy tail is impressive too.”

I looked around. She seemed alone, no friends or family in sight, standing in the middle of a crowd looking like a lost puppy. "You here by yourself?"

"I… think so?" She said it like a question, her brow furrowing. "I'm a little... confused. About how I got here."

"Jet lag?"

"Maybe?"

"Where are you from?"

She paused. "...Moscow."

"Long flight to Seattle. No wonder you're out of it. I’m a local. I'm getting my engineering degree only about thirty minutes away from here." I gestured vaguely at the line ahead of us. "Want to walk with me? I'm kind of just wandering until I find something interesting. Safety in numbers and all that."

Her tail wagged. I momentarily appreciated the mechanism involved. It looked almost like a real dog tail. "You... you don't mind?"

"'Course I wouldn't mind." I shrugged. "Always more fun to experience this stuff with someone else. An extra pair of eyes and and nose helps locate the good food hidden in between a million other booths. The pizza here is overpriced garbage, but there's supposed to be a new ramen booth this year."

Laika's smile was small and hesitant, a fragile thing that seemed ready to shatter at the slightest provocation. She fell into step beside me as we shuffled forward with the line.

. . .

The convention floor was a sensory onslaught of pure, concentrated nerdness.

Booths stretched in every direction across the concrete floor and gray carpet expanse. Glunko Pops formed towering walls at the Pop Culture Collectibles booth. Original artwork hung in neat rows at Artist Alley, prices ranging from $5 prints to $300 dollar replica weapons. A guy in a Doctor Doomsday costume posed with two kids dressed as Arachnids Man and Wander Woman while their mom took photos. 

Laika's head swiveled constantly, trying to take in everything at once.

Her eyes went dinner-plate wide at the Bandai booth selling Gundam model kits, rows of colorful boxes featuring giant robots in dramatic poses. Her jaw dropped when we passed the HBO display, a full-scale replica of the Steel Throne surrounded by a roped-off area and a line of people waiting to sit on it. She gasped when a group of 504th Legion members marched past in full Stormtrooper armor, boots thudding in unison against the carpet.

"They're all dressed up," she breathed. "Everyone. Like a massive costume party."

"It is kind of a massive costume party," I said. "Plus merchandise sales. Plus celebrity appearances. There's supposed to be a panel with some of the voice actors from Arcane later. Plus gaming tournaments, anime screenings, tabletop demos. It's like a theme park for nerds."

"Nerds?" She tilted her head in a far-too-canine way.

"People who are really passionate about specific things," I explained. "Comics, movies, games, books. Stuff the mainstream used to make fun of us for liking. Now it's basically just... popular culture. Everyone's a nerd about something."

"People… passionate about stories," Laika mused. "That seems... nice."

We passed a booth selling handmade plushies. The sign read "STITCHED WITH LOVE - CUSTOM CREATIONS BY MARTHA AUGUST" in cheerful rainbow letters. Laika stopped dead, staring at a display of animal-themed stuffed toys arranged on tiered shelving.

Her hand reached out, fingers brushing against a small dog plush with button eyes and floppy felt ears. The tag read "$15 - Sleepy Puppy (Brown/White)."

"You can buy stuff here," I said. "If you have money. Or just, you know, look at it and daydream about buying it later. I do that a lot. It’s the first day."

"It's soft," she whispered. "And… cute."

The vendor, a middle-aged woman with reading glasses on a beaded chain, and a button on her cardigan that said "I Put The PRO In Procrastination," smiled at us. "Take your time, sweetie. Let me know if you want anything."

Laika looked at me with something close to panic. "I don't... I… I don’t have money.”

“How much for the toy dog?" I asked.

"Fifteen dollars," the vendor said.

I handed my VISA to the vendor. "Bill me.”

The vendor beamed, scanning my visa with her white card reader. "Thank you so much! You two make a cute couple."

"We're not..." I started, then stopped because explaining that we'd literally just met seemed like too much effort and I didn’t want to get bogged down with vendor chatting. "Thanks."

Laika clutched the plush to her chest. Her tail stopped wagging. "You... bought me a gift. Why?"

"You looked like you wanted it," I said simply.

Her eyes glistened. For a moment I was worried she was going to cry. "Thank you… Ash. Thank you so much."

"It's just a stuffed animal," I said, feeling suddenly awkward about the intensity of her reaction. “Wasn’t even that expensive.”

"It's a gift." She hugged it tighter. "Nobody has ever... I mean... Thank you."

"You're welcome? I guess?" I cleared my throat. "Come on. Let's see what else is worth checking out."

. . .

We wandered around for a few more hours.

I showed Laika the artist alley, where independent creators sold prints and original artwork. She spent twenty minutes staring at a watercolor painting of a werewolf forest at twilight, transfixed by the way the colors flowed into each other. The artist, a woman with bright red hair and paint-stained fingers, offered to let Laika take a photo. She declined, saying she wanted to remember it "the real way."

We stopped at a gaming booth where a guy with a R4D4 tattoo on his forearm was running demos of a new tabletop RPG called "Echoes of the Abyss." Laika listened with rapt attention as he explained how dice rolls determined character actions, her tail wagging whenever something exciting happened in the sample combat. She rolled a natural twenty on her first try and the demo runner gave her a free set of dice as a prize.

We found a photo op station where you could pose with replica props from famous movies. Laika picked up a toy lightsaber with the reverence of someone handling a religious artifact. The green blade hummed when she pressed the button, and her whole face lit up.

“I’m… I’m not smelling any magic,” she commented, making my mind wobble sideways momentarily. “Yet it glows.”

“It’s… you know what, I’ve no idea what Jedi swords are powered by,” I mused, taking her comments as a joke. “The force passing through a crystal… maybe? Think there’s special crystals involved?”

“What’s a Jedi?” She asked.

"Jedi are basically space wizards with laser swords. The good guys, anyway. The bad guys have red ones."

"Red means evil?"

"In this context, yeah. Color coding for moral clarity. Makes it easier to know who to root for."

She nodded solemnly. "I… like that. Knowing who to trust by their colors. Usually I sort out the truth with my nose…"

We kept walking. Eventually, my feet started complaining and my stomach reminded me I'd skipped breakfast, sustaining myself on a single coffee.

"Are you hungry?" I asked.

"I..." Laika paused, “...yes? I don’t have money.” She repeated unnecessarily. 

"Let's grab something anyway as a snack. Even terrible convention food is better than passing out from low blood sugar."

We found a relatively short line at a pretzel stand called "TWIST & SHOUT - Hot Pretzels & Cold Drinks." The menu featured items like "The Classic" ($6), "Cinnamon Sugar Bomb" ($7), and "Jalapeño Cheese Monster" ($8). I grabbed two classics with mustard.

Laika ate hers slowly, tearing off small pieces and chewing slowly.

"This is good," she said between mouthfuls. "Salty. Warm."

"Pretzels are a convention classic," I said. "Right up there with overpriced pizza and energy drinks that cost more than a movie ticket."

"Conventions have their own food culture?"

"Everything has its own food culture if you look hard enough. There are probably academic papers about it."

Laika smiled. "I like learning things. New things. Things I never knew existed. There’s so many new, strange things here.”

"Yeah? What's something you've learned today?"

She thought about it, chewing thoughtfully. "The humans here dress up as characters they love. They spend time and money to look like fictional beings. It seems... silly?"

"It is silly," I agreed. "Magnificently silly. Gloriously silly. And also meaningful. It's a way of expressing love for stories. Of connecting with other people who love the same things."

"Connection through shared love of stories," she repeated slowly. "That’s… nice.”

"Stories are how humans make sense of the world," I said. "We tell ourselves stories about who we are, where we came from, where we're going. Dressing up as a character is just... wearing your favorite story on the outside."

Laika looked down at her own costume. "I'm wearing a story too."

"A survivor," I quoted her earlier description. 

Her brown eyes went distant for a moment. "It's a sad story. Lots of cold. Lots of hunger. Lots of... betrayal."

"Sad stories can have happy endings," I said. "Or at least happier middles."

"Can they?"

"I'd like to think so,” I shrugged. “In nerd culture if you don’t like the author’s story you go on fanfiction dot net and write your own conclusion to a book!”

“What?” She chortled. “Really?”

“Really,” I said. “Some books get thousands of fanfiction variations, read by millions. Garry Cotter has something like two million fanfics. Maybe more! I’ve read far too many of them.”

“Wow,” she muttered. “That’s a lot of book variations. How does one even find the time to read all of the variations?”

“Sort by most liked and then read them by the themes you personally appreciate,” I shrugged.

“What sort of themes do you sort… fanfiction books by?” She asked.

“I like isekais,” I replied.

“What are those?”

“Like,” I began. “It’s like someone, usually an average person, from the current year of our lord gets transported into their favorite story and then they do stuff like prevent their favorite characters from dying, fall in love with one of the people they rescue from certain doom, and…”

. . .

A rather curious tent booth appeared at the end of a row in the vendor hall, wedged between a comic book reseller and a place selling custom dice bags, waifu pillows and mouse pads.

A table covered in a black cloth, shined with hand-painted falling stars that looked like stylized fox silhouettes upon closer inspection. Strings of orange fairy lights draped along the edges, blinking in a slow, hypnotic pattern. Behind it stood...

A cosplayer in a full-body costume.

The costume was really well made. A cube-shaped head made of cardboard, felt, and hot glue, painted matte black with angular eyes cut out and backed with red mesh. The mouth was a jagged zigzag line of white paint. The overall effect was a blocky, pixelated face that looked like it had crawled out of a PS1-era survival horror game. Her incredibly curvy body was covered in a zentai suit featuring pixels, the arms concealed by long black gloves with clawed fingers.

Hundreds of black shirts hung behind her, featuring drawings of foxes with accompanying meme-text.

A laminated sign on the table read: "PIXXELVIXEN’S MYSTICAL WARES, SELFIES & BATHWATER." Below that, more colorful text: "FEEL FREE TO PAW AND TRY ON THE MERCHANDISE! CASH, CARDS AND SOULS ACCEPTED!"

"Hey! You! The guy with the face!" The cubehead declared, her voice warped slightly.

“...me?” I asked.

“Yeah you, bro,” the cosplayer added through the layers of cardboard box. "Buy something or get executed! I have bills to pay and this giant chainsaw was expensive to make!"

"Nice Habitat Evil cosplay," I commented, looking over the shirts. "The Cubehead Executioner?"

"I am the Geometric Punisher, yass!" The cosplayer struck a pose, planting the tip of the giant chainsaw on the carpet and leaning against it. "And I demand tribute, Gloom Souls knight! Are you worthy of my wares, traveler? Or are you just another NPC blocking my line of sight to the pretzel stand?"

I laughed. "I might be worthy. How much for a shirt?"

"For you?" The box tilted forward, the painted eye-holes staring at me. "Twenty bucks. Or your number, or… soul. I’ll accept all the things!"